


A Fated Meeting

by Redtiger7736



Series: The Immortals of Iazalan [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: (By the dragon), And the count is a really bad guy, Badly done magic, For many of them, Forced Violence, High Fantasy World, How to tag original works?, Immortality, Implied/Referenced Forced Prostitution, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Loneliness, Magic Users, Multi, Non-Consensual Touching, Nonbinary Character, Not a single one is straight hahaha, Polyamorus characters (eventually), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts, Uhhh some other less sad tags now, Vaguely manipulative actions, Zol has a really bad time, agender characters, everyone is pan, though he's Immortal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-17 20:02:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28605663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redtiger7736/pseuds/Redtiger7736
Summary: In the land of Iazalan, immortality is achievable, if only you can live long enough. Every Mortal has the chance to become an Immortal, but its not quite that simple. Violence and danger infect the land, and many Mortals cannot make it. For those that do, fear and pain are impossible to escape.Five beings, Immortals and Mortals, are destined to meet in one way or another. Rai, a desert dwelling Mortal with a taste for survival. Ivius, a kind-hearted sorcerer with a love for life. Elm, a icy Immortal with a growing soft spot for her apprentices. Zol, a battered Immortal warrior who holds sins he hates. Myrth, an exhausted and elder Immortal, tired of existing.
Relationships: Eventual Poly Pile, Original Characters/Original Characters, Rai/Ivius/Elm/Zol/Myrth (Eventual)
Series: The Immortals of Iazalan [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2096097
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	1. Truth in the Sands

**Author's Note:**

> Heyo! This is going to be multi-chapter, multi-part series of these five characters meeting and falling for one another in one way or another. The first series focuses on the initial meeting and backstories of the group, before romance comes into play. It is an original work loosely based on the prompt "what if you became immortal after 50?" which came about from a late night conversation with my parents. I hope to post one chapter a week at least, maybe more, depends on how fast I edit. I have the first big chunk written out, so it shouldn't take so long.
> 
> If you have any questions about the world or anything feel free to ask! I'll be making a reference chapter index at some point, but I'm going to try and respond to comments most of the time.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rai discovers a stranger in their desert.

Rare was it that Rai discovered another being in the desert beyond the occasional rodent or reptile skittering about the sands. For the most part, it was only them and Shaylan--which was usually quite alright by them.

Perhaps it was the strange loneliness that infected Rai on occasion that drove them to pull this mangled human atop their saddle, a thin cloth over his head as meager protection from the sun. As important as Shaylan was to them, a horse is no replacement for human contact, and even for the most introverted of people. Still, Rai couldn’t help but question their sanity as they rode back to their home, the still form of the stranger across their lap. Perhaps they had sunstroke, bringing back some random human they found in the sands. This stranger could be a raider, a violent criminal--Hells above he could be an Immortal. 

Still, they brought the stranger back, dragged him inside and tossed him unceremoniously on their bed. Hands on their hips, Rai stared at the almost corpse-like body for a long moment before sighing, slipping out the wooden door once more. Methodically, they untacked and brushed off Shaylan, sweeping her hooves clean of sand with practiced ease.

“I’m not particularly sure what I’m doing with this human,” Rai muttered as they worked, running a hand down Shaylan’s side to check for hotspots. “It was foolish of me to bring him back in the first place, but I cannot bring myself to leave him now. He is defenseless… I would be as much a killer as an assassin is.”

Shaylan snorted, whisking her tail across Rai’s face and shaking her short mane. It was getting longer than Rai usually liked it, and the black stripe was more prominent now, a striking contrast to her tan flank. 

“You’re right… I have to live with what I’ve done,” Rai scratched Shaylan’s face gently, “I suppose I’ll have to help him out, then get him to his home. You can help with that, can’t you girl?”

Shaylan snorted once, then turned away, breaking her ‘stand’ command as she deemed the conversation over. With a soft smile, Rai left Shaylan to her oats and returned to their home. The clay building was the same sandy brown as the dunes around her, built low to the ground and covered with a layer of thatch to help ward off the sun’s rays. It was modestly sized, really only made to allow Rai and Shaylan a comfortable living space with little room to spare. A few paces away was the covered well, bearably hot at this time of day. Small, quiet, and unassuming, perfect for a reclusive survivalist.

Stepping inside to observe the stranger once more, it was clear he was not a survivalist. Masculine in shape, he had long silken hair--easily grabbed and pulled, terrible in windstorms--of auburn color, contrasting with his pale skin. Skin which, having been subjected to the harsh rays of desert sunlight, was painted cherry red, painfully hot to the touch. Left for any longer in the sun and it would have blistered, already burned beyond the point of non-treatment. His clothing was far too elegant and revealing for a desert, ruby silks trimmed with gold draped over his shoulders and hips. It dipped low down his chest and swooped back into a half skirt that rested near his ankles. His pants were slightly more practical, looser and more breathable, but still trimmed with that red silk that was all but ruined by the sun and grime. His shoes were the worst, open-toed and entirely impractical for anything in the wild. Rai would have considered him a noble if not for the Immortal crest low on his left hip, dipping slightly below the waistline of his pants. Not an Immortal himself, obviously, but close to one in a personal manner, and therefore a possible threat. 

Prying their eyes away from the still form, Rai set about treatment. Heatstroke was common in the desert, and they had treated both themself and Shaylan many times despite their careful planning. They picked up the bucket of stale water from the corner, thankful it was cool to the touch as they wet a rag and laid it over the stranger’s forehead. Headless of boundaries, they cut off the sand crusted garments, modestly laying a thin blanket over the stranger’s legs. With another, softer rag, they carefully made long, gentle passes over the burned skin, wincing in sympathy as dying skin flaked off with each swipe. When all the sand was finally removed, they peeled open an aloe vera leaf and smeared the cooling goop generously over the stranger’s skin. Finally, they dabbed some water onto the stranger’s lips with a clean rag. All that was left was to wait for the stranger to wake up.

Passing one's idle time was a strong suit of Rai’s. Between long years in hiding from Immortals and endless days of freedom, Rai collected quite the list of relatively stationary hobbies to fill their time. Some days it was chores; fetch water, sweep the sand from the home, rewrap thatch or mend clothes. Some days, it was more creative; sculpting clay creatures, writing, or weaving miniature tapestries. Of course, adventure was the most fun, but the travel involved was always a risk.

Though it took some trial and error, Rai eventually found themself absorbed in careful curation of their gear. Shaylan’s tack was scrubbed, washed, and waxed before being set aside. Their clothes were beaten out, the few holes mended, and their shoes were fitted for new tread--a task they had been avoiding for quite a while. Their knives were cleaned and sharpened, the sheathes disassembled before undergoing a similar cleaning. They were just moving to work on their spear when the stranger stirred.

Had Rai not been paying fleeting attention to him, they would not have noticed the stranger wake. A sudden rapid breath and a hand twitching to grasp at the blanket was all the warning they got before the stranger sat bolt upright, eyes wide and wild. He looked like a startled horse, even more so when he noted the spear in Rai’s hand.

“Settle down, you’ll hurt yourself at this rate,” Rai said slowly, lowering the point of the spear towards the ground but not releasing it, still mindful of the crest, “My name is Ren, and you?”

“Ivius,” The stranger croaked after a long moment of silence, relaxing back with a wince, “Water? Please?”

Rai complied, turning the single words spoken over in their mind in search of a lie. Ivius… Northern perhaps, or from the East Central region perhaps. His appearance in fair skin lent towards the former, but his dress the latter. Then again, he could be matching Rai step for step, and the name could be entirely false. Rai passed the water over silently, eyes mapping his face, looking for tells, scars, anything to speak of the identity of this man.

Ivius snagged the cup and brought it eagerly towards his face, obviously intending to gulp the water as Rai had watched so many fools do. Without thinking, then covered the top of the cup with their hand, freezing in mild surprise as Ivius’ lips connected with their knuckles instead of the rim. For a moment, they both stared at the connection, startled, before Rai gently pushed the cup down and away from Ivius just slightly.

“Sip it, slowly. Any faster and you’ll be wasting water,” Rai admonished flatly, pulling their hand away as they spoke. Ivius hesitated for a moment, then nodded and raised the cup again, slowly sipping the lukewarm liquid inside.

“Thank you,” Ivius rasped after a long minute of drinking, “For saving me, I mean.”

“You are a fool to be wandering the deserts dressed in silk fineries with no water to spare,” Rai said, turning away to fiddle idly with a knife. A wave of uncertainty crossed their mind; a thanks for saving them, what could it mean? A bid for trust? A disarming sentence? Genuine thanks was unlikely, given the crest.

“Well, then thank you for saving this fool,” Ivius offered, his voice sounding a little less hoarse as he drank slowly, “I had no intention of wandering the desert as I did, but I cannot change that now.”

“No intention?” Rai tried for casually curious in their tone but thought they missed their mark. They moved to the kitchen to cover up their unease, pulling out a large pot and a few staple foods: salted dried meat, a couple of potatoes, and some of the sparse edible vegetation scattered about the dunes.

“Ah, yeah. I… messed up on a spell.”

“So you’re a mage?” Rai winced at the sharpness in their voice, too pointed for anything but an interrogation.

“In training, yes,” Ivius said, surprising Rai with the openness in his answer. Either he was as observant as a deaf mouse or was offering them false information. Rai leaned towards the latter.

“I really should have listened to my teacher more in this case,” Ivius continued, oblivious to Rai’s mounting confusion and mistrust, “She told me to be more cautious and reserved. She’s never steered me wrong yet, but I guess my ego got the best of me.”

“Much longer and the sun would have as well,” Rai replied, deftly turning the conversation back to facts they knew to be true, “You are lucky Shaylan and I discovered you.”

“Shaylan? You have a housemate?” Ivius perked up, peering about the room for another hidden occupant. Rai snickered to themself as he took the bait.

“In a manner of speaking. Shaylan is my horse, she and I were out scouting when we discovered you.”

“You have a horse? In the desert?”

“You say that like it is impossible,” Rai raised their brow as they piled the diced potatoes, vegetables, and meat into the pot, upending a small bucket of water with it. “Shaylan is a cross between a desert breed and a draft. She’s got the endurance and capacity of the desert, but the strength and stature of the draft. Rather ideal for me.”

“Incredible, I’ve never heard of those before.” Ah, and there it was. A hint, dropped so seamlessly into conversation Rai almost didn’t believe it, but the earnest look on Ivius’ face spoke of its truth. He really wasn’t guarded enough to make it where they had. 

“They began to grow in population some time ago,” Rai answered vaguely, their typical response to anything that could date them, particularly with an Immortal crest in the room. “I got Shaylan when she was just a foal, and she has been quite reliable since then.”

“She sounds like a good companion. Do you take her into town then?” Ivius glossed over the vagueness of their statement, either out of kindness or blindness to their purpose.

“No, I dislike towns. I live out here to avoid such places,” Rai answered truthfully this time, “Dinner will be ready in an hour.”

“Ah, I suppose I haven’t eaten today…” Ivius trailed off, turning his gaze to the ceiling in thought, “Can’t actually recall when I did last eat.”

“Is that a mage thing?” Rai asked out of genuine curiosity.

“Hm? Bad sense of time? Yes, mostly. My mentor likes to say it is our familiars who keep us on track. We watch the world and they watch us. I have a bad habit of forgetting meals, and unfortunately, I have no familiar yet. That will come in a couple of years,” Ivius smiled fondly at the thought, “I’ve heard they are great companions, I cannot wait to meet mine. That is, if I’m lucky enough to have one.”

“Let us hope you have not heard false rumors,” Rai replied, watching him for a long moment. The slip of the tongue had not been lost on them, though unspecific in nature. A mage gaining a familiar was marked in years of practice, that much they knew, but they couldn’t recall the specifics enough to gain any further insight.

Ivius was a strange stranger, that was certain. He was foolish from a survivalist’s perspective, unable to keep track of time, location, or health. He entered the desert recklessly, without someone knowing of his adventure, and without any supplies, not even a paring knife. He wore horribly cumbersome and ostentatious clothing that would be nothing but a death trap in the desert. From one hunted by Immortals, Rai could tell he had never been among the Western Barracks and their sharp-witted commanders. He spoke too freely, showed his emotions and truths without hesitation. Already, Rai could compile a meager understanding of who he was, where he came from, and most importantly how  _ old _ he was. Though still well under the Age of Immortality, his prowess as a mage would make him a target in the Barracks, and yet he seemed unsuspecting of them. He offered them his name, his  _ real _ one as far as they could tell, and didn’t even notice them needling him for more information. 

And yet…

And yet, Rai felt something for him. Pity, fear, affection. It was something, strange as it may be. Rai wasn’t sure what to do with that, nor the information granted to them through Ivius’ loose tongue. What were they to do about this foolish man with a foolish mission, laying on their bed and wincing as he picked at the peeling skin on his knuckles.

“Rai.” They weren’t quite sure what possessed them to clarify their earlier lie, but here they were, doing just that. Some desperate bid to even the playing field just a bit.

“Hm? Why what?”

“Not  _ why _ , Rai,” Rai hissed, narrowing their eyes at Ivius. “It is my name. I lied, earlier, when I said my name was Ren. It is Rai.”

“Ah,” Ivius said slowly, blinking in confusion. After a moment, it seemed to pass, and he grinned at them brightly, “Well, Rai, you already know my name, and thank you for telling me yours.”

Rai blinked. This man was getting stranger by the second.

“You don’t need to thank me for correcting my lie,” Rai said in confusion, staring at him intensely. Ivius shrugged nonchalantly.

“If something is important enough to lie about in the first place, it’s important enough to thank when the truth is revealed.”

Rai tried to parse that logic for a long moment, then gave up with a huff. They reached over to pull his hand away from where it was picking at the peeling skin on his arm.

“Enough, you’ll make it worse,” Rai admonished, glaring at the sheepish gaze they got in return.

“Ah, right. Sorry,” Ivius murmured.

Rai stepped away at last, returning to the kitchen to stir the stew briefly. They weren’t sure what they were doing with the stranger, nor why his smile stirred some hidden happiness inside him. Ivius was a curious case, someone they knew they shouldn’t trust on the basis of his crest, but found themself trusting anyways. Not entirely--that was something lost long ago--but there was trust there, to some extent. The fact he was in their home and knew their real name was more than many had gotten in the past decade. 

Glancing over the counter at him, Rai felt a strange surge of… affection. He was looking at the ceiling, lifting his hand to trace the carvings they had made long ago. A smile played across his face, bright and genuine like nothing they had seen in ages. 

This stranger… somehow, they knew he would turn things upside down for them. Somehow, Ivius would change things. They could only hope it was for the better.  
  



	2. Lost Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elm faces old wounds with a missing apprentice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2! No major trigger warnings, mentions of death and a knife I guess?

The whispers trailed her everywhere.

“ _ Cold as ice… _ ”

“... _ killed her apprentices… _ ”

“... _ Frigid bitch _ .”

“ _ Apathetic…” _

“ _...means to an end… _ ”

Logically, she could see where they came to that conclusion. An Immortal, surrounded by Mortals, had to protect themself somehow. For some, it was playful jokes and keeping everyone exactly as close as they could manage. For others, it was isolating themselves forever. For her, it was somewhere between, allowing people around her but never close to her. She was a teacher, granting Mortals knowledge without friendship. That way, she could be not quite so alone. She couldn’t face another death.

Many of the rumors held a kernel of truth. She was, as they put it, a frigid bitch. She kept an icy exterior to hold friendship at bay, pretended not to feel for their hardships so as not to attract their sympathy. It was better that way, safer for her. And really, in truth, everyone was a means to an end, though there never really was an end for an Immortal. Still, people were company to her, though the opposite was not true. 

And yet…

“Ivius has gone missing.”

Elm felt her heart stop when that sentence graced her ears. Images of her first apprentices, bodies broken and bloodied, flashed in her mind. Terror gripped her throat and choked her words before she could speak.  _ Fuck _ , she couldn’t lose another. Couldn’t lose  _ him _ .

“I see,” Elm managed after a moment, earning a frown from the courtier who spoke to her, “When was this first noticed?”

“Last night at dinner, I’m afraid he never appeared. The last notice of his appearance was yesterday at alchemical training,” The courtier replied curtly, consulting their notes.

“Could just be another of his wanderings,” Amar drawled from the corner, fiddling with their knife as per usual, “Doesn’t he do that frequently?”

“Yes, but with notice,” Elm replied smoothly. This was most unlike Ivius… he was headstrong and naive, but not foolish enough to leave without notifying her… right? 

“So, maybe you missed it,” Amar offered, slender eyes noting the sudden tightening of Elm’s posture, “You’re not really that close to any of your apprentices. Unless…”

“I’m afraid you're mistaken, Amar,” Elm cut in, “Ivius was a student of mine, nothing more. Please have the courtiers gather what information they can on Ivius’ whereabouts in the past few days, I will attempt to scry him.” Elm addressed the final sentence to the courtier before her, ignoring Amar’s smirk at her back. 

With a bow, the courtier ducked out of the room, leaving Elm to ignore Amar’s existence on her own.

“Just ‘student’, huh? Didn’t know you did private lessons,” Amar said, rising gracefully to their feet, “You can admit it to me, you know I have no business other than gossip.”

“Which is precisely why I abhor your existence,” Elm snapped, stepping away as Amar approached. She quickly moved to her desk, shuffling papers aside to prepare for the scrying.

“You just don’t want anyone to know you can care,” Amar teased, leaning on her desk slightly, “Keep this persona up for much longer and people won’t think you’re human.”

“Am I really human anymore?” Elm asked the air, her motions stilling for a moment, “An Immortal… unable to die… I live like this because I cannot hold the pain of death anymore, Amar. I have seen too much already.”

“So you chose not to see life either.”

Amar’s words cut like a knife, but Elm kept her face carefully blank. This conversation was one among many of the sort, all of them reaching the same conclusion as this one: a stalemate. Elm would not concede and nor would Amar. 

“Elm,” Amar sighed after a long moment, “I care for you, whether you do or not, and it pains me to see you like this. Maybe that would be different if I were an Immortal, but right now it is what it is. I can’t change your mind, but let me at least plant the seed: tell Ivius. He’s soft and gentle, he thinks you hate him.  _ I _ know you don’t, but  _ he _ doesn’t. Tell him, don’t let him suffer in his doubt.”

Elm stepped aside, lifting the large metal basin from its stand to place it on the desk. “Perhaps, if I find him, I will,” Elm said softly, unhurried in her motions as she drew the sigils around the basin, “But first, I must find him.”

Amar stared at her for a long moment, then nodded and stepped aside, casting one last searching glance at her before exiting the room. Alone at last, Elm allowed the dam to break. Setting the charcoal stick down, she sunk towards the floor, shoulders shaking and eyes brimming with unshed tears. It  _ hurt _ to lose someone as she had. As she  _ was _ . She could only hope that the end of this chapter was not the same as before…

…

It would be several hours before Elm would emerge from her study, shrouded in the cool mystery she exuded once again. Whispers would follow her still, telling tales of a conveniently missing apprentice, promised power and riches by a greedy Immortal. That wasn’t the truth, of course, not all of it at least.

Despite Elm’s insistence otherwise, Ivius was special to her. The man was a promising sorcerer with a love for life, something she hadn’t witnessed so viscerally in many years. He was kind beyond himself, offering her words of love and his company, unaffected by strings attached. Though he was still Mortal, Elm found her carefully crafted walls crumbling as they shared long hours of study together. His laughter and smile were gentle and true, his words not always true but never a lie. He would be easily manipulated by someone more malevolent than herself, his naivety giving his age and existence away far more than any Mortal should be comfortable with. For those reasons, she kept him close, selfishly, as if she could guard him against the world and keep him for herself. She should have known better though, known there was no chance for him so long as she was here. Cursed to live forever and watch those she loved die around her… Elm grieved for herself as much as those she lost.

Still, she walked through the icy castle, this time with a plan. Long tendrils of warmth wrapped firmly around her as she summoned magic to her palms, carefully weaving it into a circle, then a sphere, then a plate, then a gate. It swirled in colorful patterns as she focused her thoughts, recalling the glinting of Ivius’ hair as sunlight played off it in the forest. The auburn locks were long and silken soft, kept that way by the blend of herbal oils he procured from town every month. The way his lips would split into a wide grin the instant he caught a concept, his laugh reverberating through her when he fumbled a spell yet again. She recalled him, in all his glory, and focused her magic.

The gate coalesced, colors shifting to sandy yellows and browns as an image emerged before her. A desert, exactly as she saw in the scrying basin. Without a backward glance, Elm stepped through.


	3. Running Through Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ivius does magic. Badly.

_ Attempting the transport spell again, be back soon. _

_ Hoping to go somewhere warmer--winter is too cold. _

_ Well wishes _

_ ~Ivius _

Scrawling the note on one of the less ink-stained pieces of parchment, Ivius felt the giddy delight of adventure course through his veins. Rare was it that he got to explore the world--too much of a threat beyond the high stone walls of Kintra Manor--and even rarer on his own. Typically, Elm would follow at his heels, guiding him with the same calm patience she displayed in their normal classes while he ran about like a headless chicken. Mind you, this time was  _ exactly _ sanctioned by his mentor, but he was too excited to care much. He had confidence Elm could find him if needed, and the note would keep her from worrying. Hopefully.

Wrapping the silk shawl over his shoulders, Ivius carefully called magic to his hands as he began to write the sigils in charcoal. He focused his thoughts on the warmth, not like a blazing fire but gentle, like from the sun. He imagined the gilded light gliding down from between clouds, striking sunkissed dirt and warming his skin. There was no trace of snow in his mind, the seeping cold winters brought here only a distant memory to his magic. Then, with utmost certainty, Ivius carved the final sigil.

Abruptly, the room exploded with light, bright colors flying wildly out from the center of the sigil. After a moment of panic, Ivius carefully calmed his mind and brought the magic back under control, shaping it into a compact button, which he pressed in his mind’s eye. The colors slowed, controlling their motions before reshaping into a large, flat crescent, which soon opened outward as if it were a door. With a smile, Ivius stepped through.

Immediately, Ivius knew he had not been specific enough in his spellwork. 

While there was indeed no trace of snow on the ground, there was also no trace of shade. He stood in a patch of hardened sand, surrounded by the rocky dunes and sparse vegetation of a desert. It was far from the snow-capped highlands he typically resided in, and not at all what he was dressed for.

He had been expecting a pleasant valley, one warmed by the sun but not scorched. He would be comfortable in his current silks there, but here all he felt was a pit of dread in his stomach.

“Should have listened to Elm,” Ivius muttered miserably, tugging his silk sash over his head to shield himself from the sun just a bit. He always burned easily, and he could tell today would be no different.

With no particular knowledge on how one would survive or even travel in the desert, Ivius returned to his roots on exploration. Pick a direction and walk. The sand slipped under his feet as he climbed to the top of the dune, nearly sending him sprawling to the overheated floor. Gasping for breath, Ivius slid slowly down the other side, settling in the miserable patch of shade offered by a scraggly desert bush to catch his breath. At this rate, he would die before the hour is up.

“I see now why you tried to beat it into my head to listen to you, Elm,” Ivius muttered, wiping sweat from his forehead, “Years really do make you wise.”

One hand drifted down to the Immortal crest emblazoned low on his waist, tracing the familiar swirling patterns. Dimly, he hoped Elm would realize his mistake sooner than he had, perhaps she could still save him. It would be a pity for him to die here when Elm had seemed so hopeful of his future. He would hate to disappoint her.

“Well, I suppose I’ll just have to find shelter,” Ivius said to no one, eyeing the dunes suspiciously, “What that means exactly, I don’t know. But I have to try.”

Mind made up, Ivius rose again and padded off, cursing his own idiocy as he did so.

Hours later, Ivius was convinced he was dying. He had narrowly avoided a snake bite when he tried to shelter under a rock and had yet to find anywhere else with enough shade to offer him comfort right now. His skin had grown as hot as the sand beneath him, most of it a painful red that matched his outfit far too much for his liking. His throat had long since given up being parched, instead suffering in silence as he was doing now. Exhaustion was creeping over him, and every step felt like it was made with lead feet. 

“Sorry,” Ivius mumbled to the air as he staggered to his knees, limbs finally giving up, “Didn’t… want to… leave you… Elm.”

She couldn’t hear him, he knew that, but he still felt like he had to say it. He knew of her reputation, knew it was a farce, but still, he had done this. And by doing so, he had failed her. With a thump, he collapsed onto the sand, mind buzzing into blackness.

…

Waking up in Rai’s home had been a shock, to say the least. He hadn’t expected to wake up in general, but here he was. His skin burned and itched, but the goopy plant Rai smeared on it helped, at least for a bit. With water to soothe his throat and food in his belly, Ivius felt more hopeful of his existence.

“How long have you lived in the desert?” Ivius asked Rai as he passed his empty dish to them.

“A while,” Rai answered evasively, and Ivius realized he had been asking chronological questions again. Really, he must stop that habit.

“Ah, and you like it here?”

“Well enough.” Rai seemed content to give two-word answers at the moment, and Ivius wasn’t there to argue.

“I don’t think I’d like to live here, too… deadly.”

“The only reason it’s deadly to you is because you wandered in unprepared,” Rai snarked, gesturing with their spoon, “I survive just fine here. Me and Shaylan both.”

“Yeah, well, I really didn’t mean to come here. Meant to go somewhere a little more… vegetative,” Ivius said, turning his head to the ceiling to ponder once again, “I was hoping to get to a meadow or something, but instead, I got here. Wasn’t my intention.”

“So you’ve said.”

“I just hope Elm won’t be too worried… I really should have listened to her,” Ivius felt guilt well up in him again and he fell silent, picking at the flaking skin on his hand.

“Elm…?” Rai’s question was so gentle that Ivius almost could have missed it, but he didn't. He startled, offering them a bright smile as he spoke.

“Elm is my mentor, my teacher,” Ivius began excitedly, “She’s an amazing wizard who runs this academy in the Eastern Highlands. Everyone thinks she doesn’t care but really she does, she just doesn’t get the chance to show it because she’s an Immortal.” 

Ivius almost missed the tension suddenly lining Rai, though they seemed to force it out of them a moment later.

“You are learning magic from an Immortal and manage to mess it up so badly you nearly die in the desert,” Rai said, snorting, “Impressive.”

“Hey! I’m not  _ that _ bad at magic, I’m just…”

“Rather headstrong.” The sudden new voice made both Rai and Ivius whip around, the former twirling a knife deftly between their fingers. Before they had a chance to throw it at the stranger standing in the doorway, it dropped to the floor, heavy as a stone.

“Now now, let us not shed blood right now. I apologize for sneaking up on you, but really, I was hoping to see what my apprentice had gotten up to while I was away.” Ivius shrunk back on himself as Elm’s piercing gaze found him, taking in his battered appearance.

“I’m-”

“There’s no need to apologize, Ivius,” Elm said calmly, body relaxing slightly as she stepped in and shut the door behind her, “Somehow, every promising apprentice does something remarkably stupid at least once. Frankly, I’m surprised it took you this long to do it.”

“Ah,” Ivius replied numbly, relaxing as Elm cast her gaze around the humble home. Glancing over at Rai, he saw his savior was taught as a bowstring, carefully placing the counter between them and Elm. “Uh, right. Elm, this is Rai, they saved my life. Rai, this is Elm, my mentor.”

Elm turned her gaze to Rai, who met it head on and with a fierce glint that only grew stronger as Elm smiled at them.

“Apologies for barging in, but I must thank you for saving my foolhardy apprentice here,” Elm said, gesturing towards Ivius who gave a sheepish laugh.

“Not necessary,” Rai said after a long, tense moment. Their hand still fiddled with the hilt of another knife, this one remaining in its scabbard for the time being.

“More so than you think,” Elm replied, softening her gaze and turning away slightly, “You don’t seem to be fond of Immortals, not that I can blame you. We are an… acquired taste to many commoners, no offense intended.”

Rai didn’t respond to that, only shifted from foot to foot, tensing as Elm approached Ivius again.

“Ivius, if I may…” Elm asked gently, pulling her dress under her as she sat on the edge of the bed. Ivius nodded, sighing in relief as Elm let her magic wash over him, numbing his body to the pain of the burn. After a moment, the cooling sensation stopped, and though his skin was still red and flaky, it hurt no more.

“I do believe we should be taking our leave now, Ivius,” Elm said, patting his hand in an almost fond gesture, “Amar was concerned about you.”

“One, that’s a lie, Amar is concerned about nothing but gossip. Two, must we? I was hoping to meet Shaylan,” Ivius let a whine reach his tone at the end of the sentence, though his pleading fell on deaf ears.

“I’m afraid we will overstay our welcome,” Elm replied calmly, nodding towards Rai who indeed looked uncomfortable. Ah, right. They didn’t like Immortals…

“That’s fair,” Ivius conceded, offering Rai an apologetic smile that they seemed to almost return, “Perhaps… we can keep in contact?”

Rai hesitated, and Ivius tried his best to seem the picture of trustworthy and hopeful. After a moment, Rai sighed, relaxing just a hair and offering a tired smile of their own.

“Alright, but I’m afraid I have no bird to carry messages,” Rai pointed out, gesturing towards the small and indeed birdless home.

“No matter, magic can solve that,” Elm piped up, lifting two of Ivius’ gilded buttons from his pile of ruined clothes. With a whisper and a flash of magic, Ivius felt the familiar communication spell wash over the buttons before fading to a dull hum. Despite their obvious distrust of Elm, Rai seemed curious about the buttons and approached cautiously, reaching out to take one as Elm offered them to them.

“The buttons are enchanted with a simple voice spell,” Elm said, passing the other to Ivius himself, “You’ll be able to hear the voice of whoever has the matching one so long as you think about hearing a voice. It is a spell we use frequently at the academy, one Ivius  _ neglected to use today _ .”

Ivius gave a nervous laugh, reaching out to snag his clothes from behind Elm. “Ah, my apologies… I did leave a note though…?”

“The courtiers did not find it then,” Elm said dismissively, standing up and turning away to politely give Ivius privacy. Rai simply ducked into the kitchen as Ivius got dressed.

“Thank you,” Rai called as they clattered about, “For the button. I hope… we don’t meet under these circumstances again.” They sounded almost pained at the statement, though Ivius couldn’t guess why. 

Pulling on his shawl, Ivius stood unsteadily, accepting the gentle hand on his arm as Elm guided him upright. A moment later, Rai emerged again, offering them each a small bag of rocks. 

“Desert salt is rare to outsiders, perhaps you will find a use for it,” Rai offered, “Just crush it first, rock salt is a powerful flavor in meals.”

Ivius grinned brightly at the gift, accepting it easily. “Thank you, for everything. You saved my life, and I will never forget that kindness.”

Rai flushed at that, huffing and turning away without a word, which only pulled a brighter smile to Ivius’ face. With a gentle tug on his arm, Elm led them out of the building and towards the quickly developing portal, stepping through it once more. Returning to the biting chill of the academy was a shock, though Elm quickly wrapped her arm around him and let their magic cloak them in a gentler, kinder warmth than the desert. As safe as he felt in Elm’s arms, Ivius couldn’t help but feel something was missing now, though he couldn’t be sure what.

For now, though, he was content.


	4. To Be Tamed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zol struggles with existing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Implied and referenced rape, nonconsensual touching, forced touching and general lack of free will. 
> 
> Zol has a hard time, and this particular chapter has the Count who is just. Ick. Read at your own discretion, this chapter can be skipped for the rest of the story to make sense though.

Zol could never decide if the presence of others made his suffering more or less bearable. On one hand, with others around, the Count--in all his royal glory--would be too busy entertaining guests to  _ really _ press Zol into suffering. On the other hand, there were  _ witnesses _ now, and whatever tiny spark of pride left in Zol  _ hated _ that more than anything.

Right now, shackled to the table as he was, Zol hated the witnesses. He could feel the Count’s thigh pressed against his, a hand occasionally wandering to his knee, drifting upwards in slow, painfully uncomfortable motions. Keeping his eyes fixed on his plate, Zol tried to ignore the drunken leering and stares sent his way. There was little he could do right now, his leash tightly wound by the Count’s own hand. With every small motion, the chain on his wrist rattled, clinking delicately for show as he picked at his food, not really hungry. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t rise, couldn’t shake off the unwelcome touch, could barely raise his gaze to the rest of the dinner table. He was a chained dog and everyone knew it.

Zol  _ loathed _ it. 

Honestly, he was an Immortal, and though he had no thoughts of the godliness other Immortal’s laid claim to, he knew this was not his place. This was no one’s place, sitting beside an abusive asshole who used magic and fear to reign over his subjects. Hells above not even an actual dog would sit docilely beside a master that whipped as the Count did him. But no, he could never raise a hand to his  _ master _ because of that damn magical seal. Zol was tethered to the Count by chains beyond the physical world.

Had Zol known the Count kept a court warlock, he would have never dared to enter on his own. The risk against an Immortal would typically be minimal, but magic was a fickle thing, particularly where demon patrons were involved. An Immortal gained their endless life by an agreement of sorts, shown by the Sigil--their crest, as known to Mortals--so it should be of no surprise that demons could manipulate such agreements as they were want to do. Zol was no master of magic himself, using it only sparingly in his “assignments” given by the Count, but he knew enough to realize such magic was difficult and dangerous to produce, even more so to manipulate. 

So here he was, stuck beside a violent mastermind with a love for making Zol suffer. The five other guests at the table could see his discomfort, relish in it and watch him suffer as they pleased. Risking a glance up, Zol found himself almost startled by what he saw.

There was, of course, the leering gaze of the Count’s brother, who no doubt wanted a submissive Immortal for the night. The Countess herself had returned from a journey recently and seemed rather charmed by Zol and the Count’s entire “situation” as she liked to call it. The other three guests Zol didn’t recognize, but one did catch his attention. A man, perhaps 30 or so, with gold-rimmed spectacles and a scruffy singed beard, staring at him with what Zol dared to call pity. Pity? For him? Not impossible, but unusual.

“Curious about him, Alera?” The Count’s voice was drunkenly loud and slightly slurred, prompting an unintentional flinch from Zol. He felt the hand on his thigh tighten, the coil in his chest pulling him back into place and forcing his gaze down once more. “I acquired him a few years back, quite the lovely specimen wouldn’t you say?”

“Ah, yes, I suppose so,” The man spoke softly, voice laced with confusion and concern. Alera… the name was unfamiliar to Zol, but he supposed that was of no surprise.

“I’ve quite enjoyed having his skills in my court recently,” The Count continued, finally removing his hand from Zol, “His prowess on the battlefield is unmatched of course, comes from being an Immortal. And oh, what a delight he is in bed! A pretty face to match a pretty-”

Zol shut his ears off automatically, instinctively ignoring the vulgar tirade the Count was drunkenly rambling now. He could still feel the blush working up his collar, but at least he could focus his attention elsewhere. Like on the cat at his feet. It had long white whiskers peering out of it’s fluffy grey fur, patches of pale orange and white dotting it’s back and face. 

Wait… cat? The Count had no cat.

His attention now fully on the creature at his feet, Zol tried to identify it. There were the occasional mousers roaming the castle, most of which avoided Zol and his curse like the plague he seemed to be. This was, as far as he could tell, not one of them. For one, it was friendlier to him, wrapping its tail around his leg and letting out soft, near-silent peeps. Rubbing its face over his boot, it seemed to be begging for attention, or perhaps a scrap of his meal. He did not dare to meet its demands, too fearful of the clattering chain giving his efforts away and the cat leaving him alone again.

How pitiful, an Immortal clinging to a stray cat for attention. Shame.

Except it wasn’t a stray. The cat was well fed and friendly, and as it twisted around his legs Zol could spot a gold collar clipped around its neck, so much like his own. Part of him wanted to tear the collar off, give the poor thing it’s proper freedom, but unlike Zol the cat seemed content with it. It paced around his legs, twisting between his feet and ducking its head this way and that. It was free, wasn’t it? It had a home, but it was not  _ owned _ , and that was the difference between them.

“Echo, leave him alone, he’s not going to feed you.” Zol startled as the soft voice sounded again, this time from his immediate right. Risking a glance up, Zol froze as he accidentally met the man’s--Alera’s--eyes, their deep blue softening as he gazed back at him. 

Flicking his gaze once to the Count, Alera leaned down and picked up the cat, scritching behind its ear as he rose smoothly to his feet. He smelled of soot and a foreign powder Zol had no name for but recognized from the market. Magic, perhaps? 

“I apologize, Echo likes to lament the fact she only gets three meals a day, when frankly she believes she requires seven to survive,” Alera gave a soft laugh, drawing the vaguest of smiles from Zol before he quickly looked away. Best not get too attached, the Count seemed to be in a good mood and he wouldn’t want to spoil that.

“Ah! Such is the way of beasts,” The Count barked, clapping Zol painfully on the shoulder, “Fortunately for me, Zol here keeps his appetite in check. A shame though, he doesn’t seem much keen on tonight’s dinner. Not hungry, Zol? Or perhaps, this is not what you’d like? Hm? What is it you want, Zol? Speak up.”

The Count very well knew he physically could not speak at the moment, but it seemed he did not care. Zol could tell things were taking a turn for the worse now, only hoping Alera would be leaving before they became too violent. Somehow, he found himself hoping the man would be spared the horrors of his work.

“Here, try this, minced meat,” The Count drawled, leaning on one arm while the other deftly lifted a bite of meat to Zol’s lips. Magic twisted in him again, forcing Zol to accept the food despite the sour taste in his mouth and twisting in the pit of his stomach. Chewing and swallowing mechanically, Zol tried to keep his face impassive, though he wasn’t sure he hit his mark.

“Ah, that’s better,” The Count said cheerily, wiping off a bit of sauce from Zol’s lips with his thumb, “Isn’t that amazing?”

His head forced to remain upward, Zol nodded idly, his gaze fixed on the marble statue far behind the table’s occupants. He tried to ignore the shape of Alera to his right, still hovering with the cat in his arms. The fear he could feel from the maybe-magician was almost as great as the malice from the Count, both equally uncomfortable. Finally, after several long moments, both seemed to lose their intensity, and Alera turned away, striding steadily back to his seat. The Count shifted as well, his gaze finding the Countess across the table once more.

“What do you say, love? Shall we put our pet to work tonight?” The Count’s words made Zol’s breath catch in his throat, his blood running cold.

“Ah, I do believe there is a meddlesome preacher in town trying to help a usurper,” The Countess replied, taking an elegant sip of wine. Across from her, Alera tensed, though remained blissfully silent.

“Mmm, a preacher you say? Always so helpful… so caring… what do you think, Zol?” The Count turned to him as he spoke, and finally, his voice was returned to him. Shit. Fuck. He wished it hadn’t.

“As you command, master,” Zol replied in practiced indifference, though the sickness in his stomach reigned over him. He didn’t want to, hated the thought of spilling innocent blood. Fuck him and fuck his luck. 

“Ah, such good manners,” The Count praised, wordlessly stealing Zol’s voice again, “I think it would do you well to stretch your limbs tonight. The preacher and her convent need to be stopped, lest they climb too far off their holy boxes.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Zol could see Alera, pale as a sheet, silent. He wished he could apologize.

…

It was raining, he thought.

At the very least, it was cold and he was wet. Some of it was blood--most of it--and some of it tears, but he thought there might also be rain. Hoped, maybe, that not all of it was his sins.

The oppressive weight in his chest, coiled tightly around him from the Count, was gone for the moment, giving him enough slack to sulk away from the castle for the night. Zol was grateful, he didn’t want to face the sickening sight of the Count and Countess, reveling in each other’s presence while he was bathed in blood. Frankly, he just wanted to sleep, but to do that would mean to return to the castle. He didn’t. He just… walked.

He wasn’t sure where he was walking, or even what he was looking for, but he was walking. Hoping to find something… else. Maybe. Somewhere quiet where he could cry for the lives he snuffed out tonight. Somewhere he could try, desperately, to repent for his actions, drawn unwillingly from his limbs. Their screams of pain and fear still echoed in his mind. 

‘ _ I forgive you _ .’

She shouldn’t have.

“Zol?”

It was that quiet voice again, the one filled with pity and sorrow. Not that of the Count’s, nor the Countess, nor anyone from the court. Who was it? He couldn’t recall.

“Zol, is that you?”

The voice called louder this time, reaching his ears through the pattering of rain. Ah, so it was raining. Good. Dimly, stiffy, he turned his head to find the voice, blinking tears from his eyes as he did so. A man, scruffily dressed with a cloak held over his head, blond hair pulled back into a messy bun. He wore gold-rimmed spectacles, their lenses spattered with grey dust and rain. He knew this man… Where from…

“Are you alright?”

No, not really. But there was no solving that. The man stepped forward, concern written on his face as he took in the sight that was Zol. Still dressed in the pseudo fineries of the Count’s, though drenched in blood now. Three long gashes along his side ripped open the fabric, though the skin beneath it was unharmed. The wounds on his back from the Count had reopened though, which should be hurting more than they did. It was probably the shock.

“Zol, can you speak?”

“Yes,” Zol finally croaked out, basking in the relief that swam over the man’s face though he wasn’t sure why. Almost at once, he swept forward, peering around Zol in concern. Unwarranted, since he was an Immortal, but it was a nice feeling. To be concerned over.

“Come on, let’s get you inside and cleaned up. You… you can come in right?”

Zol nodded, still chasing that niggling thought in his mind as to where he knew this man from. He followed tamely behind him though, heedless of the potential dangers he was walking into as he stepped under a nearby awning on a porch. The man opened the door, ushering Zol forward into a delightfully warm home that he felt entirely unwelcome in. Every muscle in his body screamed to leave, though not as it did when the Count forced him to. Zol ignored it, relishing the small freedom.

A small peep sounded at his feet, and Zol peered down to meet two round, gilded green eyes. A cat, with long fluffy grey fur and spots of pale orange, sitting at his feet, meowing up at him as he dripped on the floor around it. All of a sudden it hit him. Who the cat was, who the man was. Where he was.

“Alera,” Zol muttered, mostly to himself though the man startled at his voice, “Alera and Echo.” Those were their names.

“Ah, yes? We… we did meet earlier, I’m sorry I thought you remembered,” Alera said as he hung up the coat, leaning down to usher Echo away from Zol’s feet, “Echo is my familiar, which is why she was at the court with me. Come on, let’s get you dried off.”

Zol didn’t bother to explain that he didn’t  _ want _ to be dry, as if his shivering, soaking form would be penance enough for his crimes. Instead, he allowed Alera to usher him out of the main hall and into a living room, pausing only briefly to spy a humming woman by the fireplace before he was hurried into yet another room. 

“We have a guest, my dear!” Zol stood awkwardly inside the door of what he realized was a bedroom, unsure of what to do as Alera called out to the woman behind him.

“Alright! Ask them if they want butter on their bread!”

Alera let out a laugh, kind and gentle, soothing some shattered part of Zol like a balm on a flesh wound. Brushing past Zol, Alera pulled out a set of dry clothes from a dresser, setting them on the bed before setting off on another search of a different dresser.

“That would be my wife, by the way,” Alera said as he searched, “Senera, she’s quite the sweetheart despite being a hunter. She’d love it if you could stay for dinner.”

Zol wasn’t hungry, rather hated the concept of food right now, but nodded nonetheless. He really didn’t want to be alone.

“Here, why don’t you dry off and change, I’ll go help Sen get everything ready,” Alera said as he handed him the bundle of clothes and towels before bustling out again.

Left in silence, Zol mechanically shucked off his blood-soaked clothing, tossing it aside with as much care as he could muster. He roughly dried his skin, wincing as he pulled the fabric over his raw back, then pulled on the borrowed clothes, slightly too small on his muscular build. Satisfied he was presentable, Zol exited the room, leaving his clothes piled where they were. 

“Ah! Zol, there you are,” Alera said happily, setting aside some metal contraption as he appeared, “We were worried you had fallen asleep or something.”

Zol furrowed his brow, confusion written on his face. “I was only a few minutes…”

“No, not quite,” The woman, Senera, said gently as she set a bowl of hearty stew and two slices of bread on the table in front of him. “It’s been half an hour, you must have lost track of time.”

“Ah,” Zol said blandly, sitting down at the table on instinct. Some sick sense of fear welled up in him as he stared at the meal before him, his muscles tightening at the impending doom. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting really, but he knew it would be nothing kind.

“Oh…” Zol barely registered the soft note of Alera’s voice as he gazed at his food. He did startle when a hand touched his shoulder, featherlight and drawn away as soon as he flinched. His gaze snapped up to Alera’s blue eyes and he froze, unsure of his entire existence.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. Look… I… It’s your story to tell if you want Senera to know, but how about we eat somewhere else. Less… memories.” Zol wasn’t entirely sure, but the honest concern in Alera’s voice and gaze seemed to be directed at him. Numbly he nodded, allowing the man to take his bowl and direct him to the couch, where he comfortably curled up to eat.

Thankfully, neither of his hosts seemed inclined to force him to talk as he idly ate his dinner. He sat in silence, listening to their gentle, friendly chatter between each other, relishing in the calm atmosphere. Truthfully though, Zol wasn’t really eating, only barely picking at the stew and pulling apart bits of the bread to eat on occasion. The stew looked thick and rich--as any good stew should be--but the meat was just too similar to the Count’s meal for him to stomach it right now. The bread was easier, particularly when dipped in the sauce, but he still didn’t have much appetite. Thankfully, Senera didn’t seem offended.

“Can you stay the night, Zol?” Alera asked eventually, long after his partially eaten stew had gone cold and sat abandoned on the side table.

“Probably not,” Zol replied glumly, knowing and loathing the truth of his statement. He was lucky the Count allowed him to be out this long, but that itch was starting to return to him. The Count was growing impatient.

“Damn,” Alera said, trying for a laugh but missing the carefree mark entirely, “Perhaps we could walk you back to, uh, to the court?”

“Better not,” Zol said, rising from the comfortable couch, wincing at the twinge in his back, “Thank you though, for this kindness.”

“No thanks necessary,” Senera said, rising with him to gently take his hands, “Just promise me you’ll do your best to stay safe? And visit when you can?”

She still didn’t know how difficult such a request would be to honor, but he couldn’t find it in him to deny her. He offered her a faint hint of a smile and a nod, then pulled away to retrieve his clothes, still wet and now ice cold. Grimacing, he changed back into them, neatly folding his borrowed ones before emerging again. Offering Alera and Senera one final smile, Zol tore himself from their kindness, ignoring the calls of concern as he ducked out the door and back into the rain. It was late now, but the itch had grown to a stabbing pain that he couldn’t ignore.

It was time to return.

…

Three months later, Zol would return to stay the night. For the first time in years, his Sigil would not itch, not even a twinge. He could breathe again, laugh in giddy happiness as Echo stole his stew and he ate the bread. He would watch Alera craft some alchemist creation only for it to promptly blow up in his face. He would share a smirk with Senera, who would scold her husband for his idiocy.

The Count would be in his bed, glassy-eyed and bloodied. 

Zol would be free.


	5. Time Forgotten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look into Myrth's mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Suicidal ideation. 
> 
> Myrth is an angsty boi and while he can't actually hurt himself in any manner he does look for the chance. Also a chapter that can be effectively skipped without losing plot.

As an Immortal, there is only so much pain of passing one can take.

When your life is infinite, you see so much, and as a result, lose just as much. Few things in life are fixed in stone, and for Immortals, even death has abandoned you. So many people come into your life, there and living and  _ vibrant _ for as long as they live. Then, just as easily, they slip away. A loose stone sending them careening down steps can crack their skull. A stray arrow pierces their skin. A dangerous illness steals their breath. People in life ebb and flow, come and go as easily as the tide. 

Mortals are lucky, they can only watch the painful exits for as long as they live. Those memories don’t stick with them for millennia to come. Me? I am not so lucky. Immortality sounds so tantalizing from afar, but I live it now and I find it my greatest regret. 

Truthfully speaking, I am not sure how old I am now, exactly. The last time I can recall counting the years I got through 200 before I panicked and shut that train of thought down. 200 years. Two centuries. My memories stretch that far and likely beyond. Hurt that much.

I was not the recluse I am now in the beginning. I was naive in the beginning, a hopeful romantic with a sense of wonder and lust for life. I lived my 50 long years carefully, avoiding the pitfalls many Immortal Hopefuls fell into; drink, lust, love. Man’s mortal years may be limited now but they are just as violent.

I digress, my mind wanders again. I was discussing my early years as an Immortal. They were… bright. 50 years is not long enough for any significant collection of knowledge, so I had no desire to start an academy, but I did have one thing of value. I was Immortal, and impervious because of it. I could fight the beasts no village warrior could slay, tend to the plagued without fear of the contagion, hunt for food on those deadly cold nights. I wanted to help, desired nothing more than to do just that. I offered shelter to many in what would become the first of many manors. I made friends with anyone willing, offered nothing but kindness and accepted no payment.

Then my first and closest friend died. 

She was perhaps 30 at the time, not close enough to the Age of Immortality to gain recognition among the village, but old enough for the knife to strike deeply in her family and friends. It was a murder, something done to get back at me for some wrong I had done to a local lord--as an Immortal of the people, I made enemies of those who deemed themselves above such people. I had made a mistake, shown weakness with my friend and she had paid for it. I did not sleep, did not eat or talk or move really, wracked with guilt and pain and sorrow. I was a corpse, moving through life without purpose. I had learned what it meant to be Immortal in this world.

Time, of course, moved on, as did the world. At some point in my insomniatic existence, the village my friend lived in moved, though I cannot recall where to. I left my manor shortly after, and continued to try to help as I had. It was a fool’s mission, of course, but it was better than nothing.

The years continued in such a cycle for many decades, my repetitive insistence at the good of mankind falling into an insane motto as it was proven wrong every single time. I would befriend someone, live alongside them, then watch them fall to the violence of the world and mourn so viscerally. I was a foolish man, circling back on the vice that kept stabbing me in the back for years. I collected scars but bemoaned their presence. I sought to help but brought only destruction upon those closest to me. All the while, I was blind to this.

Sometime along the way, I stepped back from this cycle of pain, distanced myself as Immortals must do eventually. I left my friends, my home among others, and even my familiar. The latter pained me the most, and I can still recall his face as I raised the barrier between us. A weasel should not be able to show such emotion. I was lonely in life, abandoned by everyone, including Death themself. I was, and still am, alone.

I am… so very lonely.

I suppose that is why I write this now, sitting at my desk. No one will ever read this, the personal diary of the maddened Immortal in his dilapidated tower deep in the mountains. Why would they? The ravings of a madman are often as dry and tasteless as traveler’s bread, though much more nonsensical. Still, I feel the need to tell someone of my existence, even if it is just this book. Perhaps it will live as long as I. Perhaps it will be my friend.

Not all hope is lost, there is still a chance I could find an end to this painful story where I am villain to all but myself. With centuries to myself, I have put the time into studies. I have become a wizard in all magical arts, expanding on my earlier knowledge, and am currently searching for something to end my existence. Perhaps not kill, I am unsure if that is truly possible at this point, but certainly, stop. Maybe I’ll become a statue, maybe a frog. What a wonderful life I would lead as a frog, hopping among moss and rock. I would not have the same sense of time, I think, and perhaps that would be the wonder that would save me. Kill the mortal mind inside me and I would be alright. 

Regardless, I am lonely. Abandoned by all, remembered by none. Not even myself. 

Maybe, one day, I will be a frog...


	6. Meddling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginrath finally sets their plan to action

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for vaguely manipulative behavior. It's not That bad, but thought I'd mention it.

There’s an old saying, “ _ Do not meddle in the affairs of dragons _ ”, which was and still is a good piece of advice. However, as Ginrath was quickly discovering, it probably should be updated to include the fact that dragons, as creatures of endless time, quite  _ enjoyed _ meddling themselves. 

Over the eons they had lived, Ginrath had meddled quite a bit in the affairs of humans. Early on in mankind’s existence, it was very upfront meddling, entering villages to steal away sick cows, bringing large quantities of deep ocean fish to coastal towns. They were helpful, or so they liked to think, if not a little terrifying. They didn’t blame the humans for fearing a dragon such as themself, larger than life with terrifyingly sharp claws and scales impenetrable by any weapon they could imagine. Somewhere along the way, they shifted their tactics to more subtle meddling. Mostly.

Then, Myrth appeared. 

Once Immortals were discovered, Ginrath found themself more interested in human lives. They tracked the very first Immortals but quickly bored of that, finding them all entirely too… predictable. Greed and lust overtook them far too quickly, and from there the faults of mankind only festered with an Immortal’s endless time. A shame really, they were curious as to how ex-Mortals would handle the new situation.

Myrth though... Myrth was different. Hopeful at first, the Immortal quickly found mankind was a scummy bunch. He became a scapegoat for those who would rather get revenge for Myrth’s failures than work to find new and effective solutions to avoid them in the future. Myrth was by no means a saint, but his faults were extrapolated by greedy politicians, and he was forced to retreat or bear the ridicule. A lesser man would resort to violence first, killing those who dared to oppose his existence, but Myrth had tired of death long ago. Ginrath couldn’t quite understand but could sympathize.

His meddling began when Myrth’s spiraling did. Centuries of time on his own had left his mind fragmented and fragile, wounded by cruel words and crueler actions. Ginrath couldn’t bear to see another Immortal fall to humanity’s faults, so they began to meddle. Little things, small attempts to nudge the fragile wizard back onto the right path, all of which failed. Either they were being ignored, or their attempts were unnoticed, but the result was the same. Myrth was spiraling, and Ginrath needed to do something. Fast.

So, he turned to humanity, sought out those he thought could help, thought could sympathize. Ivius, and all his naive kindness. Elm, her exhaustion in life slowly melting to care for someone again. Zol and his violent need for freedom from bonds. Rai, their understanding of being prey. It wasn’t perfect, there would be mistrust from the little party, but it was necessary.

Organizing the meeting wasn’t overly difficult. Ivius needed little urging to explore the world, and a little magic of their own twisted his spell to bring him to the desert where Rai would surely find him. Elm, of course, would follow her apprentice across the world, and thus plant the seed of friendship with an Immortal in Rai’s mind. Zol first required freedom and kindness, so a gentle nudge for that beast the Count to ask Alera to the court was a start. Then, a little magical advice and the artificer could free Zol himself. Now, they just had to get everyone to their actual home.

It started with a dream for Rai, something concrete enough for the thought to appear, but not so physical as to seem like a threat. Tempting the survivalist into an adventure would come first, as they had the longest distance to travel. For Zol, it would be something grander, more dramatic. It bothered them to prey on Zol’s semi-religious nature, but right now, the ends justified the means. Besides, an amortal dragon was as close to a god as this world would get right now.

Elm would be last, Ginrath only entering her dreams when both Zol and Rai were a week away. Then, they would call to her, trusting that she would not leave Ivius behind once again. Trusting that maybe, for once, things would go right.

Surprisingly, they did. Zol arrived first, Rai no more than an hour behind. Elm and Ivius appeared through magic within ten minutes of Rai, an important fact considering the survivalist was about ready to ride off into the sunset again. It took some fine finagling, but eventually, all four members of their rescue party calmed enough to listen to what Ginrath had to say.

“There is a man,” Ginrath began, keeping their voice low and quiet for the sake of fragile human ears, “Far North, hidden in a tower in the mountains. He is an elder Immortal, has lived oh… nearing a millennium by now. He is, for all he knows, alone, and he suffers because of it.”

“What does that have to do with me?” Rai cut in sharply, eyeing Zol with great suspicion despite putting Ivius and Elm between them. 

“Patience, and I will get to it,” Ginrath soothed, “This man is named Myrth, and I consider him a friend, even if he does not think the same of me. I have watched him from close and afar for centuries, saw his pain and sorrow take over his life. He worries me, now, lost as he is. Alone and hurting, he has spiraled, reaching the end of his sanity. He looks for a way out, any way out, and I fear it will break him this time. That, my friends, is why I have asked you here. Despite all I have tried, he will not listen to me, not through subtlety or otherwise. I humbly request your help now, to try and get him through this. I need you to find him, and if you can, help him.”

“Myrth,” Zol said slowly, scratching his stubble in thought, “That name is familiar… Where have I heard it.”

“You? Likely at court,” Ginrath kept their voice casual, trying not to react to Zol’s visible flinch, “He is quite well known among the royal and Immortal community, though for all the wrong reasons.”

“Indeed, murder and espionage for example,” Elm said calmly, prompting Ginrath to nod, “Why, pray tell, are you suggesting we seek out a violent, insane Immortal to  _ help _ him? With two Mortals in our party no less?”

“Because not all is what it seems,” Ginrath replied, causing Rai to frown. “Myrth made many enemies over the years, all powerful and dangerous in their own rights. Immortals are impervious to wound and poison, but the mind is not.”

“Rumors are just as dangerous as a knife,” Zol murmured, seemingly mostly to himself though everyone heard it.

“You think he is different than his stories. Why?” Rai seemed almost… hopeful. Ginrath knew he made the right choice with them.

“Because I have watched him since he became Immortal. His actions at first were nothing more than hopefully kind, but later became painfully so. He sought to help at great cost to himself, all in the form of his sanity. Mistakes are impossible to avoid, even for me, but Myrth has been stalked by his, despite their unavoidability.”

“And you think we can help him?” It was Ivius’ turn to sound hopeful.

“I believe you have a better chance than I,” Ginrath acknowledged, “I have done all I can for him, on my own at least. Now I need help, hence, you.”

“Why should we trust what you say over what the rumors say?” Elm spoke up before anyone else could, cutting in with cool logic as always.

“Hmm, a fair question,” Ginrath acknowledged, “Perhaps you should make your own opinions.”

“As in, visit him ourselves,” Elm clarified, “Clever.”

“I’ve had eons to perfect my scheming,” Ginrath smirked.

“Which begs the question, why should we trust you aren’t leading us to a trap?” They always expected Elm to ask the hard questions, but Zol’s contribution was not entirely a surprise. The man had been tricked far too many times.

“I suppose I haven’t given you much to trust me for,” Ginrath sighed, settling their head on their paws, “And frankly, that is the one fact of life I have always struggled with. Trust is something humans hold so dear, and yet I struggle to understand it. I’m afraid I am unsure of how to gain any with you.”

Silence hung heavy over the party for a long minute, then Ivius spoke up.

“Personally, I see no reason not to trust you,” Ivius began, raising his hand to silence Rai’s immediate objection, “Look, I’m not saying I entirely believe you--I’m not quite that gullible I promise--but… for every reason we have to trust you, we have reason to believe you are setting a trap for us. No, listen. What proof do we have of their hatred of us? Nothing, none. None of us have ever heard of you before now, so it stands to reason we haven’t made an enemy of you. Not to mention, at least I have stayed off the radar of most Immortals, Elm aside. Look… considering the facts, I don’t think Ginrath would send us into such an elaborate trap. If we were really that big of a threat, they would just kill us here, right?”

“I think you underestimate the boredom Immortals face,” Zol replied blandly, though he seemed upset by his own words.

“If I may clarify, I am not an Immortal. I rather prefer to use the term amortal. I was never mortal in the first place, so I never gained immortality as you have. Therefore, a different term,” Ginrath wasn’t sure  _ why _ they needed to clarify that, but it felt important.

“Fine, the boredom of Immortals and amortals,” Zol corrected, “My point still stands.”

“But it’s flimsy at best, considering the fact Ginrath is an actual dragon,” Rai rebutted, “I’m inclined to agree with Ivius, I don’t think this is a trap. I don’t believe them outright, but I don’t think it’s a trap. What I want to know is why we would do this for you? As far as I can tell, you’ve just given us a lot of danger and no reward. Myrth is  _ known  _ for violence.”

“And magic,” Elm added helpfully.

“Ah, yes, I suppose I never clarified that. Beyond the fact you would be helping a man regain his sanity, I am prepared to offer you riches, should that be what you desire. Additionally, I am quite the knowledge amortal, with history far exceeding yours. I can grant you such knowledge, to use as you see fit. For Elm and Zol, that would simply be adding to your knowledge base. For Ivius, perhaps it will help you in your future adventures. Rai, I know you are quite guarded with your age, so perhaps knowing far beyond a Mortal’s years would grant you some modicum of safety. It is no foolproof plan, but it is something.”

Silence followed that declaration, broken by Rai this time.

“You’ve done your research, know our biggest hopes. I cannot pass up the opportunity for a safety net,” Rai said with a sigh, “You can count me in, so long as Shaylan can come with me.”

“And me as well. Well,” Ivius paused, turning to Elm with a hopeful look, “Elm?”

“I don’t believe I could talk you out of this if I tried now,” Elm replied dryly, “I will come along, of course.”

“I could use the travel,” Zol finish, completing the party, “I’ve spent too long stagnating.”

Ginrath grinned brightly, showing probably too many teeth judging by the looks on the humans’ faces. Still, they were delighted. Perhaps Myrth had a chance now.

“Thank you,” Ginrath replied, “For everything. I wish your journey well.”

Yes, now there was hope for Myrth.


End file.
